A Torchwood Miscellany
by Arlath's Star
Summary: Latest: Under Arrest - Ianto suffers the consequences of a bungled clean-up operation with an anxious parent when he is arrested on suspicion of assault.
1. Ask Ianto

**Technically this should go under 'The Torchwood Philosophy', but I'm too lazy and I've learnt that that story is under surveillance. And apparently I'm only slightly easier to track down that Torchwood itself. The worst bit is that I didn't even get a free pizza out of it. **

**I just spent three minutes trying to think up an original and witty way of saying that I don't own Torchwood, but I can't. **

Ask Ianto 

"Um…" She can't help it. Up until a mere moment ago she had been stood by the waterside. She's not sure where she is now, but it's definitely nowhere in Cardiff. It's dry, for starters. And that console looks to be a good few centuries ahead of human technology at the very least… she'd love to get her hands on it. It looks like some kind of control system. For a spaceship? They never get many of those, which is probably a good thing knowing the way Jack drives. The characters scrolling across the screen aren't making much sense, but she's sure that she could figure most of it out…

"Cup of tea?" Says a small voice somewhere in the region of her waist. She looks down to see a small alien that is mostly nervous smile. It is holding out the beverage in question in a way that reminds Tosh of pictures of the Three Wise Men.

"Thank you." She says, receiving it automatically. She knows offering hot drinks doesn't necessarily equate to lack of evil intent, but manners are manners.

The alien takes a step back, wringing its second pair of hands. Tosh could swear that she caught a glimpse of another one just like it poking its head around the door, and withdrawing it again just as quickly.

"Biscuit?" The assortment provided doesn't rival Ianto's, but for an alien spaceship it's pretty good. This meeting has obviously been very carefully arranged.

Tosh sits down, as indicated, in the armchair she's only just noticed, and tries to make sense of this new type of alien. Hospitable ones. Torchwood reflexes give her the strong suspicion that they're trying to catch her off her guard…

"Yan-to?"

"Sorry?"

The question is repeated, this time with pointing.

"No, I'm not Ianto."

The alien looks crestfallen, making Tosh feel a bit guilty. And it's not really _her _fault that she's not Ianto. "Ianto is a Welsh name." She says, the impulse to try and be helpful taking over, even with a possibly hostile life-form that has effectively just kidnapped her. "I think you might have thought it's Japanese, but actually it's Welsh."

Her host brightens up immediately. Tosh watches in amazement as it manipulates what looks like a keypad at an amazing speed, instructions and equations scrolling across the screen. There is a small _bing. _

Ah. _That's _how she got here. Of _course_ it was some sort of teleport, but how were they powering it and how did they….?

"Tosh? What's happening? Are you alright? Where-?"

Tosh bites her lip. "A Welsh _male _name."

The alien pauses in offering Gwen a steaming cup of tea, complete with chocolate biscuit. "Not Yan-to?"

"Not Yan-to." Tosh confirms. "I mean Ianto. Not Ianto. Ianto is a man. And Welsh. A Welsh man."

The alien turns back to the teleport system, and Gwen, still bewildered, barely has time to ask "What do you want with Ianto anyway?" before another small _bing _announces another new arrival in a spaceship that is rapidly becoming more and more crowded.

"Tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Hello Tosh."

"Hello."

"Yan-to?" The alien asks Tosh, its face lit up with a mixture of worry and hope eternal.

"Yes. That's Ianto."

Ianto gives a small wave. "Hello."

"Oh dear." Gwen murmured a moment later. The newest tick in the eye-spy book of extraterrestrials has just fainted on the floor.

* * *

><p>A small delegation huddles in the doorway respectfully opposite them. Ianto has been pressed into taking the armchair, and boxes have been brought as seats for Gwen and Tosh. Each of them has a large plate of biscuits, which they feel obliged to at least nibble from, and a rather overexcited alien keeps coming round exclaiming "Tea! Tea!" at the top of its voice.<p>

Their new friends' English appears to be limited, despite what they have picked up about the social customs, and conversation is slow. But things have at least sped up a bit now Ianto has persuaded them to stop prostrating themselves after every word.

It's decidedly strange, but at least no one's tried to kill them yet.

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight. They teleported you up there, like in Star Trek, having first accidentally abducted both Tosh and Gwen, just so that they could give you tea and biscuits?"<p>

"No. They really wanted me to arbitrate a dispute."

"About what?" Owen is still sceptical. "What do you know about their disputes?"

"Not much." Ianto admits. "Their two tribes were about to go to war, but I think we sorted it out."

"Yeah, but why you? And why the hell did they give you tea and biscuits?"

"Um…"

Jack stepped in. "The Mbovafiu consider tea and biscuits to be the food of the gods."

"_What?"_

"And since they consider Ianto to be a god, they gave it to him."

"Their argument was about what kind of tea they should offer up to me. Milk or no milk. They were about to have a religious schism over it, and go into a sacred war. I convinced them to switch to coffee instead."

Owen fixes his gaze on Jack in a glare. "Explain."

"The Mbovafiu have quite an unusual custom when it comes to divinities. I've never worked out how, but for some reason all their gods and goddesses are British. Winston Churchill, that sort of thing."

"They worship Winston Churchill?"

"I don't think he's a particularly major god. They have a lot of them. As in – a lot. They just sort of acquire them, the same way..." Jack cast around for a suitable analogy. "The same way we acquire more people who hate us. Only they do it a bit more consciously than that. And I expect they added two new deities to their pantheon today."

"Eh?"

Ianto nodded. "As far as I could make out it was the divine Tosh-i-ko, goddess of looking longingly at a bicycle you wish was yours, where I think 'bicycle' was a translation error for 'spaceship', and Guwen Not-yan-to, goddess of muffled squeaks."

The look of utter incomprehension on Owen's face doesn't show any signs of going away, so Ianto elaborates a little. "She kept trying not to giggle, and then she got hiccups. I don't think the Mbo… the Mbon… I don't think they appreciate humour that much."

"Just as well." Tosh points out. "If they thought their gods were laughing at them…"

"So what am I then?"

Jack considers Owen carefully. "You could be a minor demon, if you like. Always nice to have a few minions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm the devil incarnate, according to them."

Gwen twists a bit of hair back behind her ear. "You know, I'm not surprised."

"So what's Ianto then? Beezlebub or just the Coffee god?"

Tosh screws up her face in concentration, trying to remember. "What was that list they addressed him with again? Something about the Almighty…"

"All-knowing," Gwen chips in, "Omnipresent…"

"The Merciful, the Benevolent…"

"The All-seeing one, who knows the contents of your mind…"

"The Great Upholder of Order…"

"The Revealer of Truth…"

"And then we asked them to skip the next few hundred…"

"And they finished off with 'the Amazing Ianto Jones'."

"Yeah right. Like anyone would ever…"

"You got 'the Merciful' and 'the Benevolent' the wrong way round." Ianto corrects them. "And I'm sure there was something about 'All-loving' in there somewhere."

"'The All High and Mighty'" Owen snarls.

"Yeah, 'Mighty' was there too."

"Really?" The doctor's eyebrows are still raised.

"Yup."

"What did you do then?"

"I just smote a few of them to ensure good behaviour and then they sent us back."

Gwen collapses in a chair. "The worst thing is, it's all true."

"Apart from the smoting."

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

Tosh has already got her computer up and running again. "You did spill your tea though, didn't you, Almighty one?"

Jack leans back against the wall contentedly. "I'm gonna go back there and learn the whole list, provided they don't start stoning me again."

"Now that's the kind of religion I _like. _No wonder they're so confused they have to cross half the universe to answer a question about _drinks orders_ when a central tenet of their religion is that their supreme god and the devil are shagging each other."

"Nicely put, Owen, nicely put."


	2. A Report on the Recent League tables

**Since my original short-story collection has now both grown to a humungous size and no longer fits the title, I have decided to turn this into my new short story bank. **

**Many thanks to: badly-knitted, chironsgirl, L.A.H.H., Marian Locksley, milady dragon, A-Cola-Product, ohmyianto, thedeejay, GallifreyenCultOfSkaro, insert-witty-comment-here and Chaos 'shade' Shadow.**

* * *

><p><span>A Report on the Recent League tables, as instigated by Jack, <span>

Author: I. Jones

Preliminary note: Jack might have instigated them, but it was my idea.

To summarise: It has long been noticed that despite the inherent unpredictability of the Rift, certain situations and events seem to recur frequently in our line of work. In an attempt to investigate just how often these occurred, so that we had a clearer picture on which to act, I suggested that we start a more detailed record. Jack agreed enthusiastically and set up a score chart with a column for each of us (read: got me to design a score chart). Now the team get stickers for each time they successfully achieve something on the list (brushing their teeth, going to bed on time etc. Only joking, Owen.) This is the three-month compilation report.

I have divided this up into sections, with a conclusion, if necessary, for each. Wry remarks, attempts at humour etc dotted throughout.

* * *

><p><span>Disrupting an investigation through ignorance, stupidity etc<span>

_J. Harkness ? _

_O. Harper 4_

_G. Cooper 2_

_T. Sato 2/12 _

_I. Jones 1_

There seems to be a false belief flying around that Gwen does this. A lot. I asked her, and she believes it too. And she apologised. Actually, in the three months we've just gone through only I got less stars than her on this one. There are several factors at play here though, and some points are contentious.

The Rift predictor has been playing up a lot recently, and Owen argues that since Tosh designed it, this by default counts as Tosh messing up. This is highly debatable. Nevertheless, the lockdown caused by her accidentally activating the NOT-in-any-way-a-toaster by putting a bagel in it did severely disrupt our apprehension of a kleptomaniac brufash, and nearly burn down the Hub.

Owen comes second on this list, and still refuses to believe it. He claims being drunk as an excuse for the Aldevian incident, but the rest of us feel that this does not hold. And as for the second incident? Never throw a rock at a weevil. Ever.

Jack tops the list. So much so that I conducted a small investigation of my own. The problem is the flirting.

In approximately 80% of cases Jack's flirtation does no damage, or helps further an enquiry. In all the other cases it hinders it. Jack can't understand this, but basically some people take the attentions of a stranger/Jack badly, in particular certain categories of people. For example (hint hint, Jack) men who are straight, women who are not, security guards, police detectives (Yes, Jack, I do mean Swanson) and Rhys Williams.

_Conclusion_ Common sense is a must-have in all areas of life. This being said, it is somewhat surprising that we had so few mess-ups.

* * *

><p><span>Lock-downs<span>

_J. Harkness 1 (but it was deliberate, apparently)_

_O. Harper 1_

_G. Cooper 1/2_

_T. Sato 0/6 _

_I. Jones 1 (not of own free will)_

Again, there are external factors at work.

Tosh – The Rift predictor is once again to blame, and Owen claims the same argument holds. No one (not even Tosh) is quite sure how it keeps managing to access the lock-down systems, but it does. Or at least it did. It now seems to have exhausted this avenue of entertainment. Fortunately, we never got shut in at a time when we desperately needed to get out, and we did once have a rather nice sleepover.

Jack – Apparently it was deliberate, and we need a lockdown test once every ten years. Who knows? No one else has been here that long, but I haven't yet found anything in the rules to verify it.

Owen – jointly with Gwen, whilst playing basketball. CCTV evidence suggests that it was Owen who actually threw the ball. And it hit the Rift 'Predictor' device, so this counts (possibly) as one of Tosh's too.

Ianto – see 'possession' for exculpating factors

Gwen – Once with Owen, once for the only proper use of the lock-down system these last three months – to contain a weevil outbreak. It is generally agreed that this shouldn't count, but Gwen quite likes the stickers.

_Conclusion_ We have on average three lock-downs a month, according to these results, making them a near-weekly event. However, this is mostly due to the problems with the Rift Predictor, which seems to have settled down now.

* * *

><p><span>Weevil problems<span>

No-one can quite remember what this category stands for, and whether it was intended for 'close encounters of a vicious kind', 'accidentally releasing all the weevils' or 'displays of strange and unnerving power over the weevils.' Whatever it is, Owen wins hands down.

* * *

><p><span>Hostage situations<span>

Gwen's reputation is well-earned:

_J. Harkness 0_

_O. Harper 0_

_G. Cooper 12_

_T. Sato 1 _

_I. Jones 1_

Gwen is the main topic for concern here. Mine and Tosh's is explained (again) under 'Possession' (apparently possession counts as a hostage situation). It is, however, to be noted that nine of Gwen's hostage situations occurred on the same day, due to an incredibly, incredibly annoying time loop. If you want the full details go and talk to Gwen, because it's rather a long story. The only other note is that one of the abductions was an accident – they were aiming for a Torchwood spouse, and got the wrong person. We still aren't sure how they managed this. Tosh and Gwen seem to think it was some form of sexism. Privately I agree with Owen – you would have to be either blind or very very stupid not to realise that Gwen is far more dangerous than Rhys. As it was, we arrived to find two aliens with bullet-holes in them (something Owen assures me is not part of their normal physiology) and a very smug Gwen. But she _did _get taken hostage, even if unsuccessfully, so it still counts.

_Conclusion_ Again, the averages are wrong, this time due to the time loop – if Gwen was getting taken hostage as regularly as once a week, then I would advise that we never let her out of the Hub. As it is, maybe it would be a wise idea to fit the team with trackers? Apart from the fact that Jack would know where we were every moment of the day, it would save a lot of trouble in these situations.

* * *

><p><span>Near-death experiences<span>

We lost track, and no one could decide how 'near death' it had to be before it counted, or even how you measure the nearness of death. We're all about equal anyway. But cutting down would be a good idea, so long as we don't just switch to actual death experiences.

* * *

><p><span>Actual death experiences<span>

No prizes for guessing who wins this one.

On another (and more worrying) note, it is possible that other deaths occurred during the time loop episode. Gwen is hazy about the details in one instance in particular, and all she can remember is that 'they shot someone.'

_Conclusion _Since none of the 'actual deaths' were of a permanent nature, their designation as 'actual deaths' can be challenged, but I think we all prefer it that way.

* * *

><p><span>Exploding aliens (dead or alive)<span>

_J. Harkness 2_

_O. Harper 6_

_G. Cooper 0_

_T. Sato 0 _

_I. Jones 0_

Those gloopy things from the Medusa Cascade should not be given salt. Ever.

N.B. Owen's practical jokes are rarely funny, apart from for Owen.

* * *

><p><span>Possession<span>

_J. Harkness 0_

_O. Harper 0_

_G. Cooper 0_

_T. Sato 0_

_I. Jones 1_

Just me. See full report under file name IK43518b1.

Owen, Jack and Gwen are demanding a summary in this report. This at least means that this report will be read.

In short, I was possessed by an alien influence acting through the latest Rift gift we'd picked up. During this time I/the possessing alien put the Hub into lockdown and held Toshiko hostage at gunpoint. Fortunately Jack was prepared for this eventuality because he 'thought the coffee was worse than usual' and managed to stop me/the possessing alien. Owen has come up with an alternative theory that states that I am permanently possessed, and that this incident was merely the real Ianto emerging for a brief while. _Help help let me out_. However, it's been generally decided that if this is the case then everyone prefers the possessed-Ianto _help _on account of the coffee and the not-being-held-at-gunpoint. _Jack help _

N.B. I'm not really possessed. Honest.

_(help)_

* * *

><p><span>Under the influence (of just about anything)<span>

See 'possession.'

Why did we put this category in? Oh, it was because someone wanted to keep track of how many times Owen came in 'the worse for wear' after a night on the town, _help _following the Aldevian incident. The time when Tosh, Gwen and I got high on the alien equivalent of marijuana _help me _probably counts as well. So we want a table something like this:

_J. Harkness continually_

_O. Harper 4_

_G. Cooper 2_

_T. Sato 1_

_I. Jones 2 _

Jack is rated as 'continually' because he has been completely under my thumb _help I'm not _for the past three months, apart from the bit where I was possessed (which I'm not any more) and the bit where I saw trees growing out of Owen's head.

* * *

><p><span>Report summary<span>

Miraculously we are all still here, mostly unharmed, and not at all possessed. In order for this to continue I would advise the application of large doses of common sense, a virtue one can never have too much of. Luck is also helpful.

Ianto Jones. _help_

* * *

><p><span>Notes and Corrections – J. Harkness<span>

The 'possession' statistics should read thus:

_J. Harkness 0_

_O. Harper 0_

_G. Cooper 0_

_T. Sato 0_

_I. Jones 2_

And the 'hostage situations':

_J. Harkness 0_

_O. Harper 0_

_G. Cooper 13_

_T. Sato 1 _

_I. Jones 2_

Fewer early warning signs this time, but we got there in time. I hope this isn't a recurrent event. A full report will be filed after the exorcism. (Is that the right word? I'll ask Ianto later, once we've got him back.)

* * *

><p><span>Further notes – O. Harper<span>

I'm not the only one whose 'practical jokes' are funny only to themselves.


	3. Might as Well Install a Revolving Door

**Sorry if this offends anyone. It made me laugh while I was doing my Christmas shopping. If you can work it out before Ianto you'll get an imaginary cookie. **

**I seem to have gone very Ianto-centric recently. But I don't suppose it can be a bad thing. **

**N.B. I have a feeling that this may require two readings. If you still don't get bits, ask! **

'Might as Well Install a Revolving Door'

Ianto glanced around and, for lack of anything better to do, joined the end of the line. It seemed to be formed from a lot of office-workers, who despite their apparent bemusement had still managed to keep the time-honoured British tradition of forming an orderly queue. As the line edged forward, the gate beyond came into sight, behind the passport control office (or at least that's what it looked like) that was causing the delay. Ianto resigned himself to waiting.

The clerk at the desk had obviously had a long day, though the immaculate white shirt he was wearing didn't reflect it. He rubbed his forehead as Ianto stood politely in front of him.

"What a day. Name?"

"Ianto Jones."

The secretary scrolled down with his mouse, presumably scanning a list of names. "Found the right door at last, I see."

"Sorry?"

"Your lot always get it wrong. Causes no end of paperwork." The secretary sniffed. "The amount of times you wander in and out, like this was a holiday camp. You've no idea. Messes up the system no end." He peered closer at the screen. "No, it_ is_ your first time. That makes things easier."

"Yes. I expect so." Ianto wondered idly whether things were going to be explained any time soon, and decided that this was unlikely.

"Causes a lot of trouble, of course, not doing the thing properly. But it's better now we've reworked the layout – to meet demand, you know. It was all my idea." The secretary leaned out of the little window to check the queue behind Ianto. There wasn't one. "I can show it to you, if you like, now that government lot's gone. We don't often get a lull. And I'm quite proud of it, if I might say so myself."

"Oh, yes. Of course."

The man came out and locked the door of his little booth. He was taller than Ianto and strode along in front of him, talking all the while. "They said 'we might as well install a revolving door' – that's how often you were all showing up at the wrong time – and I said 'why not?' Look, here it is."

He stood proudly in front of what looked like a large smoky black glass cylinder, which, when you looked closely, was indeed a giant revolving door. Ianto made the appropriate sounds of approval, and hoped this would be satisfactory.

"It's got a few flaws of course, but it works pretty well. People go in, it's black so they can't see what they shouldn't be seeing – official secrets and all that – and they wander round in circles until we can sort them out or they find their way out. Apparently it's quite echoey in there, and people get a bit frightened. Think things are after them, that sort of nonsense. Speeds them up though, so we get them out faster, which is always good. I suppose it might discourage them from coming this way again, though that never seems to work with your Jack. We practically built this just for him." He gave the glass a fond pat and started to stroll away. "Saves me no end of paperwork, like I said. And others use it too, every so often. We had one woman stuck in there for months once, and I think at some point last year another one of your lot got trapped in the door coming out."

They had reached the desk again now, and Ianto still didn't feel any more enlightened than when he had started talking to the man.

"Can I get your autograph?"

"Sorry?"

"I have a collection, of all the interesting people I meet when I'm on duty."

"Er, ok."

"Excellent." The man rummaged, and produced a book. Ianto didn't get time to see the label on the front before it was opened for him.

"What would you like me to write?" he asked, at the same time reading the last comment. It announced, in Owen's untidy scrawl _"I don't damn well know why you want this, but I already signed my soul away years ago, so it should be safe enough. Dr Owen Harper." _

"Oh, anything you like."

"Who should I address it to?" Ianto can't remember ever having to sign an autograph before.

"Peter will do."

Ianto inscribed the name neatly._"To Peter. Many thanks for showing me your wonderful door design. From Ianto Jones." _It looked lame, even to him, but he can't think of anything else. Peter beamed at him as he read it.

By this time a queue was starting to form again, and Peter looked at him sorrowfully. "Very glad to meet you, and I'm sure you'll manage everything fine. I'm afraid I have to go now, otherwise we'll get a backlog. I haven't had a day off in millennia, certainly not now there's so many of you down there, and I probably won't get another one off again now until someone finds a way of stopping death. But thank you for brightening up my day." He waved Ianto on, already turning to the next person.

"Sorry - can I ask a quick question?"

"Of course."

"Am I right in saying that we aren't in London any more?"

"Yes, thank heaven."

Ianto raised an eyebrow.

"Literally." Saint Peter, Keeper of the Doors of Heaven, added, then gave a nervous smile. "Just my little joke. Enjoy your stay."

**Ok. Christmas is coming round again, so if there's any short stories (mark the adjective there) you'd like to suggest, I'm willing to have a go at writing them to make up for that one. Or even just a word or a phrase, seeing as I wrote this story purely from the title-quote. Submit reviews/questions/requests below!**


	4. Torchwood Pantomime

**A Christmassy sort of thing for you all, as requested/suggested by thedeejay. More thanks go to my other reviewers: Torchwood Cardiff, wanda1969, caralily, gernumblies, milady dragon, anotherbuskitten and L.A.H.H. Warnings for general craziness and no actual mention of Christmas in the story.**

**I was supposed to be writing a 3000 word essay********today. Instead I seem to have written a 3000 word story in which the Torchwood team attempt to produce their own pantomime. I'm still not quite sure how this happened.**

The Imaginatively Named Torchwood Pantomime

Jack, the herald of doom, had announced team building again.

No one believed in team building any more. Inevitably they ended up with several destructive arguments, broken furniture, ridiculously high stress levels, and a handful of minor injuries. The only thing that came out of them that could possibly be seen as a benefit in some people's eyes (notably Owen's) was that people frequently became on non-speaking terms with each other. None of this seemed to fit in with the conventional definition of 'team building'.

Currently, Ianto didn't think that this time would be much different, except that he was prepared to add 'horrendous amounts of sexual innuendo and slapstick comedy' to the above list. Torchwood could probably have a pretty good go at producing a sci-fi programme, so long as it had large amounts of sex, violence and swearing, but he didn't think that the team would be quite as up for a pantomime. He certainly wasn't. The only saving grace he could see was that the only people who would ever see their amateur dramatics would be themselves.

* * *

><p>"I don't want to see Jack in a dress." Owen moaned over his coffee, the day after the announcement that Jack was writing them a script specially. "I'll get nightmares."<p>

Tosh shuddered. Of course, there was no real question as to who would be the obligatory pantomime dame. Having Owen would have been amusing, but knowing Jack it was probably unlikely.

"I'm not sure we have a dress to fit him." Ianto pondered.

"Let's hope not." Gwen looked grim. "I know it's pointless, but is there-?"

"No, we can't get out of it." Ianto was staring despondently at the wall. "Not now he's got it into his head."

"Who gave him the idea in the first place?"

Gwen and Tosh shook their heads in response to Owen's belligerent request. Ianto gave a quiet cough. "I may have mentioned the phrase 'he's behind you', to Jack at some point, and had to explain…"

"So we're going to have endless peals of that." Tosh sighed again. "Which is a bit silly without an audience." Ianto nodded in agreement.

"And bloody innuendo." Owen added. "Tonnes of it. God, give me a weevil any day."

"In a dress?" Tosh asked with a smile.

"Anything. In a ballgown, a diving suit, anything."

The others shared the sentiment.

* * *

><p>Ianto read through the draft and then read it through again. And again. It was not quite what he had anticipated.<p>

Jack looked at him expectantly. "Well? It needs work, of course, but what do you think?"

"Uh, it's… It's alright. Better than I thought." Ianto paused. "Jack, have you ever been to a pantomime?"

"Nope. I thought that at my age might be a bit too old for them, by about a century or so. But I'm sure you can all remember your youthful days still."

"Right." Ianto thought this through. So Jack had missed out on certain… elements that were traditionally found in pantomimes. Notably the more adult ones. But he wasn't complaining. He wasn't complaining at all. Maybe this might be bearable. Just.

* * *

><p>"How bad is it? Tell!"<p>

"No."

Gwen looks put out. "I thought you were on _our _side. Come on, tell!"

"If he'd wanted you to read it, he would have asked you as well as me. Besides, it was only the draft version."

"But how bad is it? Give us some kind of preparation, at least!"

"My part's alright."

"Ianto!"

"Yes?"

"What about everyone else?"

Ianto smoothes down his shirt front. "Wait and see."

Still a day to go before they properly begin, and already they're on non-speaking terms.

* * *

><p>At the top of Tosh's script (only five pages) is a cast list. She tries to read it slowly, stomach filling with dread. Her first thought is to wonder how patchy the 'first draft' Ianto had mentioned had been. Or had the play never got past the first draft?<p>

_Narrator - Captain Jack Harkness_

_Sir I'll-think-of-a-name-later. Something Welsh. - Ianto_

_Princess ...? ? ?... - Toshh_

_Evil witch (I'm giving up on names here. Names are hard) - Gwen_

_Squire/dragon/horse/Janet the weevil/any other minor character - Owen_

Owen is already flicking ahead, a look of disbelief etched on his face.

"Stop!" Jack calls out. "Don't read it yet. I want you to do it as you go along."

"But-!"

"Right." Jack looked down at his own copy of the script, then back up at them authoritatively. "Have any of you got any questions?" He is hit by a barrage.

"Why do I only get stupid silly little roles? And why did you make me a horse? I don't want to be Ianto's horse! Or Janet! I-"

"How come you can spell Ianto's name and not mine?"

"Do I _have_ to be the evil witch? And how come you get to be the narrator?"

"Why didn't you just use our real names? Or am I supposed to be called 'Sir I'll-think-of-a-name-later'? Because-"

"Alright, alright!" Jack stopped waving his hands for silence. "Ok, we're going to-"

"Aren't you going to answer our questions?" Jack pauses and looks down at Gwen. Her hands are on her hips. "Well, aren't you?"

"Because I'm the director."

"Sorry?"

"That's the answer to all your questions: I'm the director." Jack takes in the disapproving looks. "Don't complain. I'm the director, therefore I'm in charge. My plot, my casting. I could kill you all off if I wanted to."

"Even me?"

"Even you, Ianto."

"Awww, what a tragedy." Owen snarks. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Yep. Props and costumes are over there."

Ianto follows the others hesitantly, speeding up at the girls' gasp and Owen's bark of laughter.

"I just looked through the archives to see what we had-"

"And we just 'happened to have' an entire suit of armour?"

Jack tries not to laugh at Ianto's expression, half incredulous, half outraged at the idea that there might be something in the archives he doesn't know about. "It's not a full suit of armour. That would take too long to get into. Just the helmet and the chain-mail."

"And the broadsword." Tosh adds quietly.

"But that lot must weigh bloody tonnes!" Owen points out unnecessarily, and hastily adds "I am _not _being the horse. Ok? No chance."

"Jack, is this real gold?"

Jack glances at the diadem Gwen is holding reverently. "That? Yep. Thirteenth century." He turns back to Ianto, scooping the chain-mail up.

"And the dress?"

He looks back again. "Err, twelfth, I think."

"Twelfth century?"

"Yes." Jack is busy trying to find the armholes.

"And all I get is cheap Halloween witch's hat from Tesco?"

Ianto clears his throat. "Sainsbury's-" He begins, but is cut off by Jack shoving a heap of linked metal circles over his head. Heavy metal circles.

"Oh, well that makes things fine then, doesn't it? Tosh, if I help you put that on, will you let me try it out later?"

"Yep. Sure."

Owen examines what looks like a giant lizard's claw with interest, then turns to try out the sword. Fortunately for all concerned he only manages to lift it as far as his waist before the muscles in his arm give in.

* * *

><p>"Once upon a time, at Cardiff Castle-"<p>

Ianto raises his visor. "Sir, Cardiff Castle isn't mediaeval. It was actually built in-"

"'Once upon a time' Ianto. Not 'Once upon a time in the mediaeval period'."

"But you do have knights." Gwen points out.

"It's the Rift." The Rift can explain anything. Jack clears his throat and starts again. "Once upon a time, at Cardiff Castle, there was a bold young knight called-"

"'Sir I'll-think-of-a-name-later'?" Ianto proposes. Jack shoots him a warning look.

"-who loved a fair lady named-"

"Dot dot dot question mark question mark question mark dot dot dot." Tosh intones steadily off the cast list, still keeping a straight face. Nearly straight.

Jack glared at her. "-who unfortunately had just been kidnapped by an evil witch _whose name is of no importance to us, Gwen Cooper!_"

Gwen gave him an innocent look, which he proceeded to ignore. "So this young knight decided to go off in search of his fair lady, taking with him his trusty steed and his faithful squire-"

"Am I meant to be both at once? 'Cos if I'm meant to be a squire _and _a horse, I'd rather be the squire. Then I might actually get some lines."

"Actually, none of your roles are speaking parts."

"What!"

"And so they rode and they rode and they rode, through the hills and fields until Sir… until the knight spotted something." Jack stopped.

The others waited.

"Ianto…"

"Oh, sorry. Err 'What's this?'"

Jack sighs. "No, sound more like you're actually wondering _what _it is."

"_What'_s this?"

"Excellent."

"So what is it?"

"It's…" Jack frowned. "It was going to be something that Gwen, err, the witch, had dropped, so that you could follow her."

"Only you put a blank in the script and forgot to go back and fill it in."

"Yep."

"It could be a spare witch's hat."

"I've only got the one."

"Maybe Tosh could have dropped her tiara as a clue so that I could find her?"

Jack nods and scribbles something on the script. "Right Tosh, hand it over."

Tosh neatly drops several million pounds worth of jewellery on the floor.

"Right. Continue."

Ianto scooped to pick the diadem up, nearly tripping over due to the weight of his costume, and ad-libbed. "Dot dot dot question mark question mark question mark dot dot dot's tiara!" He didn't look at Jack's face as he continued from the script. "'My one true love must be nearby, and we must save her! Onwards, my bold companion!' Cue glare from Owen."

"Cut to the witches' castle."

"Oh. Is that me?"

"Who else is it going to be, Gwen?" Owen replies in annoyance. "It's not as if _I've _got a speaking part, is it?"

Gwen took a deep breath. "'I've finally won! I have captured the princess and when Sir Whatever-name-I-finally-decide-to-call-him comes to save her I will either murder him horribly or turn him into a frog slash dragon slash weevil open brackets I will come back and decide which later once I've written the end close brackets!'"

Tosh stopped, momentarily stunned, and trying very very hard not to laugh in order to stay in character.

"You missed the evil cackle." Jack says petulantly, as if this was the only thing about this performance he could be bothered correcting.

"Where?"

"At the start. And don't do it as 'begin italics evil cackle end italics'."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Gwen takes a breath, then warns: "I'm not very good at evil cackles." She gives a hesitant attempt.

"Not like that! More evil, and not so…. Ok. Yeah, like that."

"Maybe a bit less evil next time?" Ianto offers.

Tosh looks down at her script. "'Oh no you won't. He'll come and save me, so there!'"

"'He doesn't stand a chance against _me_. I will defeat him and kill him horribly in front of you over a long period of time, and then I will take you and'-" Gwen turned the page, "'cleaning and refitting the SUV £623.49; fuel costs-'"

"Gwen, that's not the script!"

"Really? I never would have guessed. 'Fuel costs-'".

Jack removes the stray finance sheet from her copy and directs her to the right page, ignoring the protests of 'I'm just reading what I've been given!'.

"So what do you do to Tosh?" Owen asks expectantly.

"Jack's left it blank. What would you like me to do?"

"Make her sort our finances filing system out." Ianto suggests hurriedly, before anything worse is offered up.

Gwen shudders. "Sounds sufficiently evil. Oh good, I get to cackle again."

The pause is longer this time.

Owen shakes his head from side to side. "That's really freaky, you know that?"

Gwen grins happily.

"Scene three." Jack announces, glad he had kept this short. "On a lonely country road, our hero is in grave peril."

"'Oh no! A rabid wild beast!'"

"Am I the horse, the squire or the weevil at this point?"

"Weevil."

"Can I make weevil noises?"

"Yes."

Ianto closes his eyes as he listens. "This is really just a competition as to who can make the most unnerving noises, isn't it? I can do a duck on acid, if you like."

Gwen's face brightens. "I'll turn you into one at the end, if I win."

Jack clears his throat. "The weevil – for that is what it was – charged at our bold knight, who raised his great sword aloft and-"

Tosh screams, suddenly paying attention to the action again. "No, don't! It's a real sword, it'll-"

"It's alright." Ianto tells her. "I couldn't lift the real one, so I've just got a wooden one now. Much less dangerous." He proceeds to demonstrate this fact.

"Ow! I'll have bruises for a week now, you-!"

"And with one quick blow the ferocious beast lay dead upon the floor – lie down, Owen! - and our hero advanced further towards the witches' castle, into scene four, in which there are _no witches cackling _on account of the knight having got past the witch's weevil."

"Would you like me to sob violently instead?"

"No, you can just read out your lines. And miss out any extra punctuation."

"'Oh no my weevil is dead'"

Tosh takes up the dialogue dutifully. "'My brave knight has slain him, and he will kill you too.'"

"Only if he gets here. Which he won't."

Jack frowns. "That's not on my script."

"Well, it should be, shouldn't it? Can I write the play next year?"

"You're really wasting our acting potential." Ianto adds. "We can do far better than this, with better material."

"Can we just go to the bit where I get to be a dragon and eat Ianto?"

"SCENE FIVE!" Jack shouts, over the increasing complaints. "In which the dragon-"

"-Charged at the knight with his eyes aflame, panting and snorting, reeking of brimstone and rotting flesh. Ianto made a pass-"

Owen takes over. "-And missed, giving the dragon just enough time to sink its teeth into the knight's arm and rip it from his shoulder-"

Ianto regains control "But at that point his faithful squire charged in riding his jet black steed, thus causing the actor so much confusion over which part to play that the dragon dropped dead of a heart-attack. The knight continued into the castle, clanking up the stairs, bleeding heavily from the stump of his left arm, until he reached the innermost chamber. There he saw his love sat on a golden chair, gleaming in all her radiance, and she said-"

"'You took a long time in coming.'" Tosh begins with a grin. "'I've been here for weeks now! What took you so long? Oh, get back into the hall, you're dripping blood on the carpet. And what have you done with my tiara?'"

"Then the witch entered, and the knight turned on her, tears burning his eyes. 'What have you done with my love, you hell-fiend? Why have you corrupted her like this?'"

"'I _haven't _corrupted her, I just showed her what an arrogant twat you were, and how the only thing you were good for was killing other people's pets. She says she likes it far more here than at your stupid palace, getting drunk on potions from my magic cauldron every night and singing witchy songs together, and she never wants to marry you, ever. Now would you like to be murdered horribly or would you rather be turned into a duck on acid?'"

"'Duck on acid, please.'"

"'Abracadabra alakazam!'"

There was a peal of evil cackles, followed by a collection of sounds which could believably come from a duck on acid, if you had been told that they did, with an accompaniment of weevil grunts. Tosh made one last attempt at seriousness in the face of Jack's despair before breaking down.

"Open brackets the end close brackets."

**I doubt Jack could ever write anything that's bad scriptwise, or be so terrible a director, but oh well. Maybe he was doing it deliberately. Or maybe I just couldn't think of any new character names and it all stemmed from there.**

**Feel free to make more requests (I've got a couple more to go) since when I've finally stopped procrastinating this essay I should have time to write some. Now I will post this and attempt an essay introduction…**


	5. This Won't Hurt a Bit…

**Many thanks to L.A.H.H., Torchwood Cardiff, wanda1693 and thedeejay. This chapter was suggested by Torchwood Cardiff, who wanted to see how Owen dealt with younger patients. **

**Please excuse my lack of medical knowledge in this chapter. I have never had stitches, and hope that this will long continue. **

This Won't Hurt a Bit…

"What are you doing?"

"Checking over your arm."

"It stings."

"I'm cleaning it. It won't take long."

"Are you going to chop it off?"

Owen frowns. He's not used to dealing with this kind of thing. "Why would I bother cleaning it if I was going to chop it off?"

The small boy frowns thoughtfully. "Maybe you could keep it and put it in a jar. Like the other one. And then you could get feet, and legs and a head and stuff and sew them all together and it would be like Frankenstein."

"Could do." Owen replies cheerfully, silently calculating the retcon dosage required if his charge has had this close a look-around the Hub.

"Are the knives for chopping bits off people?"

"Knives?"

The child reaches for a scalpel, but Owen gets there first. "They're sharp. Don't touch them."

"But are they for chopping bits off?"

"They're for cutting into people to see what's inside."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Dead people."

"Wow." The child is silent for long enough for Owen finish washing the cut clean. It's quite a long one, but not too deep. A pair of eyes watches him with interest. Owen finds this disconcerting – normally his patients prefer to look away. "Do I get stitches? When Matt fell off his bike he cut his leg and got three stitches. He showed me them."

"Yep, I'll put some in."

"How many?"

Owen considers. "Five."

"Five? Wow."

"What colour would you like?" This is not normally a service Owen offers. The others would probably have a fit if they woke up and found that he'd closed their wounds with neon orange thread.

"Blue."

"Blue it is then. Right, now I'm going to give you an injection, but it shouldn't hurt…"

"Not at all?"

"Well, maybe a little bit." Owen replies more honestly.

"Is that what they inject poison with?"

"Yep. But this is just a painkiller."

"Have you ever poisoned anyone?"

"Nah. Too much trouble. Could do if I wanted though."

That gets a pair of wide eyes. "Could you, could you make them swell up and up like a balloon until they go BANG?"

"That's quite a tricky one." The kid hasn't even noticed the injection. "Far more fun to make them run round and round in circles 'til they die. Less messy too." Owen finds he's quite enjoying this.

"Can you really do that?"

"Yes." Owen says, wondering if he could. "Or make them come out in spots." That one he can do. One day when he's really bored and feeling particularly suicidal he'll try it on Ianto.

"Spots don't kill you." The boy says dismissively. "Not unless you get them in your throat and you're choking choking" – he does a good impression, and finishes – "until you can't breathe."

"True."

"That thing that jumped on me tried to bite my head off." The child says conversationally. "And it had sharp, sharp teeth like…. like knives. And claws. Huuuge, looong claws. Was it a wolf?"

"Nah, it was a weevil."

"Weevil." He rolls the word round on his tongue like a new sweet. "What's that?"

"Sharp teeth and big claws, just like you said. And a nasty temper."

"Do they eat people?"

"Only if they can catch them. But when they do… oh, it's messy."

The kid shivers in delight, which causes some problems with the needle Owen is trying to use. "Have they ever attacked you?"

"Oh yeah. Millions of times. We're meant to catch them, you see, and stop them from killing people. Like we did with you."

"Did you shoot it? I heard you shoot it."

"That was just to scare it. We try not to shoot 'em."

"Do you have a gun? Can I try it?"

"How about we wait until your arm's better first?"

"Oh. Ok. What was the orange thing then? It looked like an alien."

Owen glances at the cold storage locker, where the former occupant of his operating/dissecting table had been unceremoniously shoved. "It was an alien." Thank god for retcon.

"Cool! Where was it from?"

"Err… We don't know yet. We just found it dissolving people near the station."

"Dissolving? Like… Wow. Why is it orange?"

"Guess it just wants to be. Wanted."

"So it's dead? Did you shoot that one?"

"Nope. It was allergic to milk."

"I'm allergic to vegetables." In a confidential voice.

"Me too. Apparently there's no known cure. And that's your arm done. Here, drink this, should stop you getting dehydrated." Half a pill should be enough – smaller body mass.

"Are you a secret doctor? Like, a secret superhero doctor? 'Cos you live down here in a secret base on your own and you kill aliens…"

"I'm not on my own. I've got some friends with me."

"Like… sidekicks?"

"Yeah. Sidekicks. Only don't tell them I said that. They'd get all upset, 'cos they like to think I need them."

"Wow. Can I help?"

"Maybe when you're a bit older. You any good with guns?"

"I got top score on Halo. I beat my brother."

Owen raises his eyebrows. "Hey, I'll take you on sometime. No one here can beat me."

"Have you ever saved the world?"

"A few times." Owen replies offhandedly, and adds generously "With help."

"Have you ever not saved it?"

That's more of a puzzle. "As in, have I ever destroyed it, or does someone else do some of the saving?"

"Both!"

"Well, I get quite a bit of help with the saving. Sometimes I even get days off. And I've never destroyed it. Not _actually_."

The boy yawns, picking at the stitches with one hand, which Owen removes. "I want to save the world one day."

"Maybe you will. I mean, if we manage it, then it can't be _too_ hard. And I'm a doctor before I'm a world-saving hero, supposedly."

A pair of eyes blinks sleepily back at him. "I think you're a brilliant doctor."

"Oh. Thanks."

Sleep removes the chance of a reply.


	6. Another Shore

**Probably my last one before Christmas, so Yuletide best wishes to: Torchwood Cardiff, thedeejay, brionyjae and L.A.H.H.  
><strong>**Inspiration: a winter morning at Robin Hood's Bay, 'The Time-Traveller's Wife', and _Odyssey _Bk 11. I own none of these. More's the pity.**

Another Shore

The waves go on and on and on until the clouds swoop down and the horizon swallows them. They roll onto the shore, then roll back, dragging the sand with them with a steady pulse, the noise like the breath of the sea. The surface is pearly grey, but the white crests caught in the sunlight remind her of the stories her father used to tell her when she was small – charging horses and secrets beneath the sea. The thin mist trails from her hands.

And all is still, in the midwinter cold. Silence apart from the breakers, no one else. Peace, security, freedom.

The waves roll on.

The footprints appear in the middle of the beach. Leading from nowhere, heading down-shore, soft imprints in the wet sand. A wayward breaker rolls over a section, removing every indent. Heading her way.

Gwen watches, noting the walk and the way the head tilts, scanning everything. She lets her voice break the spell. "Ian-?"

"Not your Ianto." He corrects. The tops of his shoes are dusted with sand. "June 2008. When are you?"

"Later."

"Not telling?"

"Protocol."

"I suppose I can't be getting any spoilers." Ianto settles himself on the rug next to her. "Can I borrow one of your blankets? I'm not really dressed for-"

"December." Gwen fills in, as she removes a layer. "Is this the time when you vanished at a building site?"

"Yes. I take it I get back?" There is a slight hint of worry there.

Gwen racks her memory. "You were gone about an hour. Long enough for us to get frantic." One hour lost then, of little account –

"What's in the bundle?"

- Now she would have given up years for one more hour. An hour which had been granted. She places the bundle gently in Ianto's lap. "Ianto Jones; Anwen Cooper."

"Anwen's a beautiful name. We nearly called my niece that."

"My Mam says it's too much like Gwen."

Ianto smiles. "Call the next one Olwen. Or are there more already?"

"She's the only one." Anwen is probably a safe topic. But most of her life these days is Anwen. "What… what were we doing? Last week? For you?"

Ianto looks at her strangely. "Miss the old days?"

"I always miss what's gone, when I stop to think about it. And it's different now, with Anwen. So different." Too much time for thinking, for a start.

Ianto looks out to sea, gazing the same way she had been just a few minutes before. She remembers that he's seen as much, and lost as much, as she has. She tries to stop herself taking in every line of the face, every wayward hair. "There was a weevil chase two nights ago, down by – no, that's not what you want to know, is it? You want the little things."

Gwen weaves her cold fingers together, and nods.

Ianto takes a breath. "I came in first this morning. Apart from Jack. He's always there these days, not doing the old roof-climbing so much. I tidied up – Owen had left a pile of folders all over the floor by his desk – then I made Jack's morning coffee. Owen arrived about halfway through that. He was… hung-over. Mildly. And mouthy. He said I'd ruined his filing system. You know Owen. And then you came in, in that red blouse you always used to wear and took my side, which meant that you were in the way when Owen tried to throw coffee at me, and Tosh was in hysterics. Turned out that she hadn't actually slept, on account of being halfway through some new bit of programming, and was running mostly on caffeine. So she got Owen's coffee instead of him, and you were grousing about your top - Is this boring you?"

"No." Gwen replies honestly.

"But can't you remember it?"

Gwen shakes her head. "Sort of. The little stuff just sort of… blurs together."

"I know what you mean. Here." He deposits Anwen's sleeping body on her knees again. She hadn't even noticed he still had her, cocooned in his words of the past.

"Thank you."

"She's beautiful. You and Rhys should be proud." Ianto glances across at her. "I'm assuming-"

"It's Rhys. Don't tell me anything about it when you get back – you never did. I didn't know this was coming. Any of it."

"I won't." He promises. "Is everything-?"

Gwen looks at him fully, glad of the excuse. "Everything's fine." And, she discovers, it is. She's sat on a beach on a perfect winter's day with her daughter and a best friend she hasn't seen for months. She smiles at him, and gets one back. "Tell me about the weevil chase." And he does.

* * *

><p>They're not really talking about anything now. Gwen has progressed from entwining Ianto's cold fingers in hers to burying her head in his shoulder.<p>

"Gwen?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm always going to wonder, when I get back, and worry…"

"What?" Another wave crashes. Can't be long now.

"You want to know about…" Ianto falters. "The way Tosh's smile looks like out of the corner of your eye, and what arguments Owen's been having, and Jack's laugh, and when he last flirted with me, and what my coffee tastes like…"

Gwen wants to bury her head in deeper, but raises it instead. "I didn't ask-"

"No, but… but you might as well have done. Yes?" Ianto's throat catches. "Why? Why do you want to know about that?"

She knows exactly what he's afraid of.

"I… I'm not part of Torchwood any more." Truth but not truth. But she sees him believing, like he needs to. Like she knows he does. "Rhys wants it like that. It's better for Anwen. Safer. But I miss the old days, back at the Hub. I don't see you so often, all the way out here, I don't…"

Ianto reaches round to try and hug her properly, Anwen somewhere in the middle. "You miss us."

"Every day." Gwen breathes.

She embraces the cold sea air, and finds the salt water in her eyes has made the horizon blurred. Anwen starts to cry. "Every day."

The waves roll on.


	7. The Obligatory Christmas Fic

**Thanks to: thedeejay, L.A.H.H. and Keira for reviewing my last chapter. ****This is for L.A.H.H., who misses them too. **

**This has an impending Owen language warning, and parts of it will possibly only make sense if you've watched enough Doctor Who to get the gist of things, in particular what happens at Christmas. That said, I have watched very few of the Christmas specials, but I think I still get the gist of them. Watching the one from this Christmas, in particular, would probably be helpful.**

The Obligatory Christmas fic

"So what shall we do?"

Owen shrugs. "Thought you had something planned."

"Not really."

Ianto leans back on the sofa. "I thought the plan was to watch London get destroyed."

"Yeah." Tosh doesn't sound enamoured.

"Have it as a drinking game." Owen offers. "Take a swig for every alien you see, down a shot if Big Ben gets blown up…"

"Or if a spaceship lands on it."

"Or that. Down one if the London Eye gets used as a broadcasting machine for deadly alien space rays…"

"I don't think you could actually do that. I'm not sure what it's made of, but the frequency needed…"

"Tosh."

"…would – Yes?"

"I know its your flat, but shut up. And find us a decent news channel. None of that Christmassy nonsense: Disney, and tv specials and shit."

"We could watch 'The Snowman'."

"You can shut up too, Ianto."

"Cheerful Christmas, Owen."

"Should I be cheerful?"

"You've got a day off."

"We've all got a day off. Nearly. Jack's watching the Rift, Gwen's cuddling her boyfriend and I had nothing better to do than sit here getting drunk with you two."

"'Team bonding'."

"Hmmp."

Tosh plonks wine on the table and gets busy with the laptop. "Nothing on the news sites yet. Satellite view says nothing's got blown up either."

"Are we sure London's going to get invaded?" Ianto hesitates to ask.

"Course we are." Owen scoffs, pouring himself a generous amount of drink. "Happens every year. Nearly. And every year we sit back and do nothing, partly 'cos it's London, which is Torchwood One's business, and partly 'cos Jack says it'll get sorted anyway. But not by One. We all know that. One's _useless_."

"I was in One."

"Proves the point."

"Owen, that was harsh." Tosh makes apologetic eyes at Ianto on his behalf.

"Just because Gwen's not here doesn't mean you have to take over, Toshiko. Why aren't we using the telly?"

"It's broken."

"Broken?"

Ianto furthers the query. "Broken to the extent where you can't fix it?"

"It's showing the wrong channels. Well, the right channels but at the wrong time."

Raised eyebrows.

"I sort of… experimented, with one of those harmless bits that came through two weeks back…"

"'Harmless'."

"Well, mostly harmless. I'm picking up programmes from 2011. Same date otherwise, and only a few hours out."

Ianto takes this in stride and mentally labels it 'comparatively normal'. "And is the TV any better in 2011?"

"Not really much different. If it keeps up until next year we'll get to see the Olympics though. London's hosting, provided it doesn't get blown up tonight. Owen-"

"Advert, adverts, adverts, boring adverts…" Owen was flicking through channels. "This is worse than watching London not burn. Boring film, more adverts, shopping, quizzes, Narnia, adverts…"

"It's not Narnia! It had Bill Bailey in it!"

"He still around then?" Owen sounded mildly interested, and flicked back. "Yup, and he's wearing a yellow metal suit. How tasteful."

* * *

><p>Forty minutes later and the bickering has started. Tosh is trying to explain the complexities of time vortexes to Owen, who is too busy demeaning 'warm, fuzzy, environmentalist, make-you-want-to-puke feel-good plots' to Ianto, who is calling on 'the spirit of Christmas' to support his argument.<p>

"Mad though. Stupid plot." Owen is determined about this one. "Ridiculous characters. Who would really be that stupid?"

"Didn't you stroll into that Ha'araki flight pod the other day?"

"Yeah, but it was _camouflaged_. Chameleon coloured. Not my fault."

"That was a pretty plotless day." Tosh muses. "Most of our days are. Just pure craziness. So maybe crazy plotless telelvision is actually realistic."

"I think we've got a plot to our lives." Ianto begins. "Some bits of it make sense, and-"

Owen raises a hand. "No philosophy. I'm not drunk enough yet. When I am I want to contemplate the transience of life while Tower Bridge gets disintegrated."

"You don't like London much, do you?"

"I lived there once and I'm never going back again, if I can help it."

Tosh pauses, remembering a time when she had ended up taking on Owen's London mission because he was too hungover to go. She was now beginning to question his diagnosis. "Why not?"

"None of your business."

"I thought you were from London?"

No reply.

"I'm not going back there either." Ianto adds quietly. "Even if the weather is better. You lot are far more fun."

"Really?" Tosh asks.

"Oh yes. And we get Christmas off here."

"How come you aren't off visiting family then?" Owen demands suddenly.

Ianto's face stays blank. "Family issues."

"Huh. Who?"

"Parents."

Owen nods sagely. "What about you, Tosh? Troublesome relatives too?"

Tosh turns her glass round slowly, looking down into it. "No. I just can't visit them."

"But you want to." Ianto states thoughtfully.

Looking uncomfortable, Tosh nods. "Not now please, Ianto."

Owen tops the glasses up. "Feel like playing happy families here then? Know it's a bit out of character, but someone's got to say it. And I brought crackers."

The other two stop looking so maudlin and stare at him in surprise.

"What? It _is _Christmas!"

* * *

><p>Tosh leans back into the sofa, dozing off gently. Owen is pushing cold chips round a polystyrene box beside her, the rest of the takeaway boxes still decorating the floor along with Tosh's new empty wine bottle collection. Ianto is on her other side, a paper hat hanging off his head where it's slumped on Tosh's shoulder, long gone. He had got halfway through a long, drunken, rambling story about a girl he'd once known in London, but had nodded off before Tosh had managed to find out anything more. To add to the sharing atmosphere, Tosh and Owen had swapped their university stories. No one had said anything more about family histories.<p>

"Oh! Yes, yes! Shit!" Owen turns his bleary eyes away from the TV after his long vigil in disgust at his thwarted hopes. "Only bloody fireworks!"


	8. Emails

**I haven't written for a while. Ok, nearly two months. Sorry about that. Life got more complicated. **

_In lieu of a tune. _

To: T. Sato

From: G. Cooper

Hi Tosh,

I found some old files of yours at the bottom of the stack on my desk. Sorry I never found them earlier – they're a bit out of date now. I've filed them, so no need to worry. Just thought I'd better tell you.

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hiya Tosh,

Me again. Yup, I've found more stuff I'd forgotten about. That DVD set you lent me. You know, the one we both started watching together at your house once. Anyway, I haven't finished watching it yet, so I'll get out the popcorn tonight and see if the ending's really as good as you say.

Gwen

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hi Tosh,

Just got back late from an all-nighter with Ianto, ghost-hunting in that old town house just off the city centre. Reminded me of that time Jack chased us round Caernarvon Castle. Anyway, about halfway through the night a ghost bit Ianto (yep, first time I'd ever heard of ghosts biting people too…) so now Jack's sorting that out and I'm here wondering where the hot chocolate is and talking to you. Should probably get some sleep really, but I don't feel like it.

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hi Tosh,

I had a fight with Rhys today. About kids. Again. He's seen my job now, what we all do – why does he still want a family? I don't think I could cope with kids and torchwood – we'd either have to get a nanny or have Rhys on permanent home duty. Don't think he'd like that much. Or I could cart a baby around with me when we're weevil chasing. That'd be fun.

Love,

Gwen

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hiya Tosh,

I fixed my own computer at last. Well, not just my computer, some part of the Hub network instead. I'd give you the error codes and service numbers and everything, but I'm not as good with all that stuff as you. Anyway, I fixed it for you while I was the only one in the Hub, and nothing's exploded. Yet.

x

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hi again Tosh,

Re. our discussion on CCTV I found some, more, er, 'footage'. Was that what we agreed to call it? Anyway, it's been deleted, apart from the copy attached to this email, just in case you wanted to see what the boys get up to when everyone else is out. Then you can send me a précis, because I'm not sure I can face any more than what I caught. Do you think they forget to turn the cameras off deliberately?

love,

Gwen

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hi Tosh,

Shit day today. I made a mess of everything. Not sure why I'm telling you this, since you probably know half of it anyway if you were watching, which I'm sure you were. Anyway, half of Cardiff nearly got killed because of me, Ianto included, Ianto is not happy, Jack is really not happy, and I am really _**really**_not happy. So yeah, shit day.

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

Hiya Tosh,

Not even sure why I'm sending this one. Just one of those days. Up late at night, Rhys isn't home, and nothing else to do. Could probably try find some tv to watch if I tried. Can't really be bothered though. Just feel all used up and empty and hollow. Lonely, yeah? Sure you'll understand. We were all too busy to talk yesterday, but now it's all flat and empty again. I hate the times when everything stops and you just get left alone with yourself. Fifty seven days now. Spring flowers are out, it's warming up, and everything looks greener and sunnier except me.

Love you,

Gwen

* * *

><p>To: J. Harkness<p>

From: I. Jones

I found these on the email system. Not sure what to do. I thought we'd deleted Tosh's account?

* * *

><p>To: I. Jones<p>

From: J. Harkness

Best leave them. I think Tosh knew us better than we thought.

Jack

* * *

><p>To: T. Sato<p>

From: G. Cooper

I'd like to say this is the last time, but I know it won't be. I'll keep pestering you through the beyond. But I thought it was time I wrote it down at last, because I haven't been able to properly yet. Don't read if you don't want to, I just need to write, that's all.

I talk to you in my head far more than I used to. And out loud, occasionally, when no one's there. Don't know why I said that, but it's true. And I turn round to see you and you're not there, because you won't ever be. Someone else is sat in your place. I'm first in most days now, not late any more, and sometimes I forget and still think you'll be there, and you're not and sometimes I hate you for it. Sometimes I cry and I cry because I'm not sure anymore whether I'm crying for you or for me. This city's got so many damn memories of you, we could get into anywhere, and everywhere I go, every time I walk past a place and think 'the last time we…'. It aches.

We were good. We were bloody good. Part of one crazy family together. And I think you're still there, every time we face the music. We're running out of people now. I'm working more, cutting out other stuff to fill the gaps. That makes me sound like I'm blaming you and it wasn't your fault. It just happened and I wasn't there. I didn't even think it could ever happen. Now I expect it to happen to everyone, anyone, any time. All the time. That's probably the worst bit.,

Can't think what you'd say if you saw me crying on this keyboard right now. sorry for the typos. Sorry for making such a fuss about it all and writing this. Sorry for all the times I messed up. Sorry for everything

I loved you. Still do.

* * *

><p><strong>Apologies for inflicting all that on you, but you did choose to read it. I'll write something cheerful soon, when I get time. And the inclination. <strong>


	9. Are there Grapes in your Glovebox?

Are There Grapes in Your Glove-box?

"_Jack?" _

"Yep?" Jack clicks the comms onto loudspeaker for the PC's benefit. It's nice to be considered for once, Andy thinks. "How's the stake-out going?"

"_Wonderfully. Where are you?"_

"In a small room filled with crates of a drug that is outlawed on at least sixty planets, is used for lethal injections on two, and forms the main food source on Amaridnak's second moon. Very funny people there; I went once a…"

Andy is glad that Ianto cuts through what is doubtless going to become one of the Captain's long, painfully embarrassing (for his listeners) reminiscences. _"Come out soon and find us. Front entrance is best." _

Andy watches Jack scratch his head. He doesn't have much else to do. Tosh and Owen are busy cataloguing drug sachets, and he's feeling surplus, as usual. Why did he ever let Torchwood to take over the first proper case he's had in weeks? He'd be more use on the stake-out team, but he's stuck up here in a room full of alien narcotics overhearing top secret conversations instead.

"Are there any grapes in your glove-box?"

Andy pauses, realises this cannot be addressed to him, and wonders if the drugs can be inhaled.

"_Nope. Why, are you hungry?"_

"Got anything else?"

"_I think we have some chocolate bars somewhere. Four. No, five, sorry. Full pack."_

"With nuts?"

Andy has a suspicious feeling that it isn't food that's being discussed, but doesn't want to speculate too much on what is. Grapes in a glove-box?

"_Of course. My favourite. Oh, and a carrot too."_

"A carrot?" Jack echoes Andy's thoughts. Even Tosh and Owen have abandoned their little packets of white powder and are looking round at him now. Andy suppresses a strange urge to blush.

"_Er, yes. For Gwen's diet? Jack, I'd better go. Just come out soon."_

"Of course. Just give us a few minutes."

"_Oh, and Jack?"_

"Yep?"

"_Don't forget we need more milk." _

Jack clicks the earpiece off.

"Protocol 7b?" Owen asks.

"Yep."

"I'm sorry." Andy says amidst the sudden incomprehensible bustle around him, and not really sorry at all. "But what did you mean, 'grapes in the glovebox'?"

Jack is busy peering out of the tiny grimy window trying to catch a glimpse of the alleyway behind the building where they'd parked up. "I was asking whether the SUV had been hijacked."

Oh, well _that _was obvious. "In code?"

"Not much point just asking." Owen points out in his best two-add-two-is-four voice. "'Cos if the hijackers hear us ask 'have you been hijacked?' then things aren't exactly going to go very well for whoever they've hijacked."

"So grapes in a glove-box means they've been hijacked?"

"Nah, no grapes is hijacked. People'd get suspicious otherwise. Who keeps grapes in their glove-box?"

"Don't they get suspicious anyway?" Andy is definitely bewildered now.

"Hope not, or I'm going to be picking bullets out of people."

"We were a bit drunk when we thought the code words up." Tosh admits, busy with some device or other Andy doesn't know the name of. "Jack, the plans say there's a back exit."

"You and Owen take that route, we'll go round the front and distract them."

"So what was all that stuff about chocolate then?"

"Five nutty chocolate bars is five men with guns."

"Right. And carrots?"

Tosh shrugs. "I think he meant celery." Owen pronounces. "A knife, yeah? And there's some old joke that Tosh and Gwen get held hostage more times than most women go on diets."

"Ok." Andy accepts the stun gun Jack pushes into his hands. "So what your little shopping list actually means is 'help, we're being held hostage by five gunmen, Gwen's got a knife held to her throat again, and I'm being forced to lure you into a trap.'"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Andy feels confident enough to hazard a further guess. "So 'don't forget we're low on milk' means 'please come and save us soon'."

Jack looks back at him scornfully as leaves the room. "Nope. You don't think we do everything in code, do you?"

Andy shakes his head mutely.

"That was just Ianto reminding us we're nearly out of milk."


	10. More Milk!

**This is written especially for Shade O'Killer, who pretty much suggested it. I have several short story ideas at the moment, just need to get around to writing them… **

**Thanks to all who reviewed my last chapter: brionyjae, L.A.H.H., chironsgirl, PadawannaB, Shade O'Killer and Torchwood Cardiff. Hopefully everyone's read the last chapter otherwise this one won't make much sense.**

More Milk

Jack was about to force the door when he realised he had the key anyway. Gwen notes this down mentally as a reference point for later – _N.B. Jack has the key to Ianto's flat. Further investigation _not _required. _She's never been to Ianto's flat before so this is quite intriguing, although, really, these weren't the circumstances she would have chosen.

"All this and I bet he's just slept in." Owen mutters, hefting his gun in one hand.

"Ianto never -" Tosh begins, before Jack puts a finger on his lips.

Ianto had not been there before them this morning: Ianto was never late. There was no coffee waiting: there was never no coffee. Ianto had not turned up at all: Ianto never did that either. Ianto had not answered Jack's calls: Ianto never - ok, Ianto did sometimes not answer Jack's calls, but usually for a good reason. And he did usually answer them by the tenth time, unless he was ill, or being held hostage, or d-

Yeah, let's not go there.

Ianto's flat isn't as tidy as Gwen thought it would be. She reads this as a warning sign. Looks like someone's left in a hurry.

"Ianto?" Jack sticks his head round several doors. "Not in his bedroom, so not ill. Or still asleep."

_N.B. Jack knows Ianto's floor plan and the location of his bedroom. Really, really do not investigate this, at all, _ever. _Or at least not until we find Ianto. Which we will._

"Jack? I've found a note."

Jack crosses to the kitchen. "A note?"

"Well, a shopping list." Tosh confesses. "But look."

Owen cranes over Jack's shoulder. It's a normal, neat, Ianto-kind of shopping list, until the end, where it becomes a hurried scrawl.

'_Chocolate (lots!)_

_party ring biscuity things_

_More chocolate _

_MILK!'_

"That's not much like Ianto." Gwen comments.

"I think that's the point." Jack murmurs grimly. "He's drawing attention to it. Added later, in a hurry."

Tosh runs their code through in her head, appreciating once again just how ridiculous it is. "Were party rings vehicles? I can't remember."

Owen shrugs. "I wish he'd been more specific about the number of attackers. S'pose he didn't have much time though. And it'd look suspicious."

Jack is pacing – his own way of mentally coping with the situation, instead of making irritated comments about the victim's unhelpful clues. "Tosh, can you-?"

"Mobile trace? I'm already on it."

Gwen frowns. "Didn't you do a mobile trace earlier?"

"Yeah. It said-"

"-It was here, on the side?" Owen waves the mobile in their faces. "Charging. Which is probably why he hasn't been returning our calls."

"Any cameras outside?"

"Nope."

Jack completes another lap of the small kitchen. "No mobile trace, no cameras… Alright, I wan t a full scale search, finger-printing… We need to work out how they got in, and-"

The lock clicks and several fingers automatically reach for gun triggers.

Ianto walks in with a look of pure exhaustion on his face, and reaches the coffee jar before he notices them. "Hello. Why-?"

"Are there any grapes in your glove-box?"

"What?"

"Are you doing this under compulsion?"

"Making coffee? No."

"Good, 'cos otherwise I would have blown this anyway. Ianto, what's going on?"

"What's the note for?" Owen asks belligerently, still keeping his gun out, just in case.

"Note?"

"'Lots of armed men. Help.'"

"I never wrote that!"

A crumpled shopping list is thrust into Ianto's face. "Oh, that. It's not code. Just a shopping list. Only I forgot to take it. And my phone."

"We noticed." Owen wonders if something's wrong. Gwen's right that this isn't the normal Ianto.

"I, I had a phone-call this morning. It's my nephew's birthday and my sister made me promise I'd go visit, but it slipped my mind. Then she rang up and told me she was ill and I got lumped with running the party. I was in such a rush I forgot to ring you." Ianto collapses on a chair. In an attempt not to stand round cluttering the kitchen, Tosh starts making tea, on the assumption that the coffee here is also out of bounds.

"So I bought up a load of chocolate to keep them happy, and it turns out chocolate was not a good plan. Then I was stuck in a room full of hyperactive kids for four hours, trying to stop themselves from killing each other or burning the house down or…" Ianto shakes his head. "I know we always joke about Torchwood being a load of primary school kids, but you're really really not. And they dropped the cake on the floor and broke a window and and…"

Gwen rubs his shoulders in a vaguely soothing sort of way as he rests his head in his hands. "Is this normal protocol then?" He asks in a slightly calmer tone of voice. "That you break into my house and eat all my biscuits after six hours of no contact?"

Tosh tries not to look guilty as she finishes the chocolate digestive. "We wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I wish you'd come earlier. Then you could have rescued me. I'm sorry, Jack."

"It's fine. Want to take the rest of the day off? You look like you need it."

As Ianto nods gratefully Tosh turns to him with a cup of tea. "I can't find any milk, I'm afraid, but…"

Ianto's head returns to his arms. He seems to be shaking slightly. Owen runs through the common symptoms of a nervous breakdown in his head.

"Ianto…?"

"I forgot the milk!"


	11. Work Experience part 1

My Work Experience Diary – Ellen Carson Part One

_12th October_

I was ill yesterday so was late for applying for work experience. The police one is gone. John got it. I'm stuck with the boring tourist office instead because there's nowhere else left. Abby's helping with a play at the theatre, Jemima's snuck her way into a post at Debenhams, and I'm stuck handing out flyers and pointing out the way to the castle for a week.

_13th October _

Aiden's said he was at the tourist office. Thought that was good, since I quite like him, but then he said there was only one place there. Turns out there's another tourist office that I'd never heard of by the Plas, and I'm stuck there instead. And if I haven't heard of it what are the chances that a tourist is going to have heard of it? Boring boring boring boring boring….

_1st November_

….Boring boring boring. It starts tomorrow. Yay. Least that means no school. And if there's no tourists I can go home early. I spent an hour last night looking up tourist destinations in Cardiff, on the vague off-chance someone actually shows up.

_2nd November 11am_

No one has turned up yet. Glad I brought this and a detective novel with me. There's not really much to do, certainly not for two of us. I don't know what the man here does all day normally.

The man running the place is quite nice. Or I think he seems nice. He's a bit odd. Here is a full description, to help pass the time, since I've reorganised all the brochures twice already and put all the out-of-date ones in a pile. It's a pretty big pile.

He's called Ianto Jones, fairly young (no good with ages), Welsh, wears a very neat suit. Immaculate. Very polite, and very tidy. My mum would say he was OCD, but I think if he was the office would be as smart as he is. If I was any good at actually detecting things I would have worked out more about him than that. Like how many kids he has. I don't think he has kids. He doesn't have a wedding ring, and there aren't any photos of family or anything. There aren't any photos at all.

He's not here now anyway. He's gone to 'sort something out' and says he'll bring coffee when he gets back. Oh, he's back.

_2nd November 11.40am _

The coffee is very good. Far better than Starbucks normally does. Maybe he knows how to chat up the waitress or something. Maybe he has a secret coffee machine hidden somewhere and he used that instead and then pretended to take ages so he could fool me and bunk off work, only there isn't any. Maybe I'm bored again.

He gave me some tourist figures to sort out, but

_2nd November 1.10pm_

Sorry, I stopped because I ACTUALLY HAD A TOURIST! Yes! A real tourist. They were Japanese though. I think. Or maybe Chinese. Sometimes I can't tell the difference. Anyway, they came in and asked me something in Chinese/Japanese, and I told them I didn't understand, and then we had this very strange conversation because she didn't seem to speak English properly. I was trying not to laugh, but she was pointing at the map and saying all the names really weirdly. Like Splott. How can you mispronounce Splott? Splott. She said it like Sploe, or something. And why would anyone want to visit Splott anyway?

Another weird thing is that it was just her. Normally Japanese/Chinese tourists travel in packs. Maybe she got separated? Anyway, I gave her directions and drew all over her map (with correct pronunciations) and sent her off to Splott. I hope she survives. It was quite nice to have someone to talk to.

_2nd November 3.20pm_

We had some more tourists when Mr Jones got back. They were an American couple, and then an English family who didn't stay long. He dealt with them mostly. He was away for ages before that, but he did bring back coffee, which made it worth it. And there's not really room in here for two. Suspiciously, he came back wearing a different suit. Perhaps the tourist office is really a front for a drugs operation? (I don't know why I came up with that, it's just that changing a suit for no apparent reason seems suspicious. Like you're covering up bloodstains or something.) But I can't see why that would mean he had to change his suit. Maybe he spilt coffee on the old one and his sense of pristine cleanliness meant he had to change his entire outfit. I should stop being mean about him. He's really nice, even if he's not here most of the time, and at least I'm not going to spend the entire week learning how to make tea like everyone else in my year.

_3rd November 10am_

I got sent home early last night. Not much else happened. When I arrived today Mr Jones suggested that I write some reviews for some tourist attractions, then he took an 'urgent' phone-call and left.

I'm not going to write a review of the tourist attractions just yet. Instead I'm going to write a review of this office.

It's small and neat, but quite shabby. I like the little bead curtain. And it's clean, but it doesn't feel particularly used. Possibly because normally it's never open, if Mr Jones normally spends this much time away. We really ought to put a notice up redirecting people to the other tourist office.

The drawers are full of stationary supplies. I checked. And there's a note reading 'do not steal'. Who would steal stationary supplies? And why does he even need so many? I can't quite envisage an illegal trade in surplus stationary, so maybe he just hates running out. There's also a locked drawer I can't find the key to.

I ordered some new brochures, since most of these are out of date. One of the attractions advertised has even closed down. This is highly suspicious. I'm not sure of what yet. Probably nothing, but it's more fun to think that instead of just shuffling leaflets I might uncover a massive Cardiff crime syndicate, hidden behind this tiny fake office. I'm going to go and tap on all the walls to look for secret doors.

_3rd November 12pm_

While I was tapping on the walls (I'm going to recheck the one with the brochure rack on later – it echoes a bit) a woman walked in. She spoke English this time, which was good, and said she was from Swansea, visiting for a few days. So we chatted about Cardiff and its history and I found her the Millennium Stadium on a map (she said that she'd lost her boyfriend there while she was shopping, and now she needed to go and find him again). She said work experience was a great idea, but that whoever was supposed to be supervising me really shouldn't leave me on my own so much. But if someone else is here then I can't snoop around.

_3rd November 12pm_

There's a camera! I can't believe I didn't notice there was a camera! How blind _am_ I? If this is some sort of cover operation they could have been spying on me all along, and they'll know that I've been rummaging in the drawers and knocking on all the walls! Or maybe it's just so that they have footage in case of abuse against staff members or something boring. But it's much more exciting to assume otherwise.

_3rd November 6pm_

Ok, nothing else happened for the entire afternoon, apart from two things.

- The panelling does sound hollow. It's weird. But I don't know what you do after you've found a secret door. Presumably you look for the secret lever, but I can't find one.

- When I left I hung round to get a pizza and I thought I saw Mr Jones chatting to a man over by the railings. I didn't get a good look, but my (probably non-existent) detective's intuition tells me that they're together. So maybe _that's_ where he's sneaking off to! Mystery solved!

I'm going to try and do a joint work experience tomorrow – tourist office employee (not that I'm getting paid) and private detective! I know which one I'd rather be. And maybe I'll even get some tourists to help out while I'm at it.


	12. Work Experience part 2

**Thank you to the reviewers of my last instalment: PadawannaB, wanda1969 and norsegodchick13. **

**In case you hadn't guessed from the 'part 2' this is a continuation of my last short story, which I'm assuming you've read (an assumption based on laziness and unwillingness to write a summary, not out of a basic premise that everyone _must _have read my stories, just so that's clear).**

My Work Experience Diary – Ellen Carson, Part two

_4th November 10.20am_

I arrived early but he still got there before me. Again suspicious – why would he bother being there that early when he's never there for most of the rest of the day, when there's actually a chance of there being some tourists around? Either he hates tourists (but he's impeccably polite to them) or something secret (and probably illegal) is going on.

The problem is that I think he's caught on to what I'm up to, and that's why he's sticking around. So I'm sat here waiting for him to go and checking through all the brochures as a cover. I'm intrigued by that (fake?) wall and I found a bit of wire to try and get into that locked drawer. It's supposed to work as a lockpick, but I don't really think it'll work, since I don't know how to use it.

He's just gone out with another 'urgent call' – i.e. one he doesn't want me to hear. So either from his boyfriend or from someone he's working with - unless they were actually talking about deliveries or something last night, and this is more of the same thing. Jay says there's a massive drug syndicate running in Cardiff somewhere, but I'm not sure if he's making that up or not. Or it could just be stolen goods.

Ok. He came in, grabbed some stuff, said he wouldn't be long, and rushed off. I'll wait five minutes then I'll restart my investigations (but a bit more carefully this time, and keep out of the way of the camera!).

_4th November 4pm_

Ok, today has been ridiculously busy. I'd only just started trying to fiddle with the drawer when the same woman from Swansea who came in yesterday rushed back in again, a bit out of breath. I assumed she was in a hurry, but then she stayed for more than an hour asking me endless questions about restaurants, and then we started chatting about what I was doing at school, what I wanted to be when I grew up, and things like that.

Then a man came in, and I assumed he was the boyfriend she was telling me about, because he gave her a nod when he came in, but she left just after that. I wish she hadn't, because the man was really rude (and he had mud all over his shirt as well!). Not about me, but about Cardiff. He said he wanted to know where the station was and what time the next train back to London was, because he was sick of the cold, and the rain, and the Welsh and Cardiff in general. Only he said it a bit more expressively than that. And I got fed up, and so I spent half an hour arguing with a customer about why Cardiff even has a tourist industry anyway.

Then Mr Jones came back, and I thought he'd be angry, but instead he carried on the argument until the man left. Good riddance! Apparently he doesn't get stuff like that much.

Anyway, two more observations:

1) He'd changed his clothes _again _

2) There was a bandage just visible under one of the sleeves, that wasn't there before. Not sure what to think of that.

Then I went out for a late lunch and things were normal and boring for a while once I got back. Mr Jones took a phone call, which I couldn't hear much of, but seemed to be about him finding a file for someone, and he left soon after that. Something is definitely going on here. And another incredibly odd thing is the way the tourists only turn up once he's gone. I really doubt they're scared of him, and I'm almost starting to wonder if some of them are just being sent deliberately to keep me out of the way. The one that turned up right after he'd left certainly seemed to know everything about the history of Cardiff already, so I've no idea why he came otherwise. And I didn't get that good a look at the man Mr Jones was with the other day but I'm almost positive he had a long coat on, which is exactly what this man had! And they're not exactly common, are they? He was a tall American, very talkative, telling me all these ridiculous stories about Cardiff and the people here he'd met. He just wouldn't go away. I asked him about the Plas, to see if he gave anything away, but he didn't.

Then Mr Jones came back and was rather amused and told the American that I was under 16, and that he should stop flirting with me. That seemed a bit unfair to me, but I preferred him to the English man who just came in and never stopped swearing.

I went home soon after that. I wanted to go back and see if anything happened at the office in the evening, but I couldn't get away.

_5th November 11 am_

Mr Jones is sticking close to me today. Or he's just doing his job properly for once. Or his cover job. I'm pretty much convinced now, but I may just be jumping to conclusions.

_5th November 4pm_

He stuck close all day, apart from two very brief coffee breaks. During one of those the only interesting thing that happened all day occurred (we didn't get any tourists after yesterday's surge). A police officer came in, and I immediately thought 'yes! This _is _some kind of cover operation, and now the police have come to investigate it!' I was ready to tell him everything I suspected, but instead he just asked "Where's Gwen?" He looked pretty stressed out, and while I was wondering what he was on about he said something like "She's not answering her bl**dy phone Where is she?" So I said I didn't know who he was talking about and that I was only here on work experience, and he swore under his breath and hurried out.

I told Mr Jones about it, and he said maybe he'd got the wrong place. Mr Jones also looked fairly stressed out, and he spent all day on the computer or messing about with unnecessary jobs. When I came back from lunch I caught him on the phone talking to some guy called Jack (probably the American?) asking if they needed him to help, and saying that Jack and some other person with a weird name I can't remember shouldn't have to sort it out on their own. But then he cut the call as soon as he saw that I was there, and he sent me home as soon as he could, saying that we might as well shut up shop since there was no one around.

Only I didn't go home. I told Mum I was staying in town to meet friends. Anyway, I've had a massive windfall. Mr Jones was in such a rush on the way out that he dropped his keys! So obviously I picked them up so I can give them back to him tomorrow, because I'm a good citizen and if he left those lying around _anyone _could just break into the tourist office. I'm going to wait a bit before I try it though, in case they come back later.

_5th November 7.15pm_

Just as well I did. And guess what? I saw Mr Jones and the American man again. Definitely the two of them. And there were three others with them, all strolling across the Plas, two women and a man. And to me they looked _very _much like the two women and the rude man I had coming in and asking me questions, _pretending to be tourists! _I am definitely going in to see what I can find later – no one is stopping me!

_5__th__ November ?pm_

I'm stuck.

I got into the office with the key and opened that drawer. It had a gun in it. I don't know why but I took it with me. And then I saw that button again. Don't think I mentioned it yet. Mr Jones (if that's even his real name) said that it was an alarm button, but I'm not going to trust that man any more. What the button actually does is open a secret door which leads to a lift and um…

Well, the problem is that I can't work out how to open the door again from this side. And although it's amazing down here, it's also really creepy. It's massive – must spread out under the whole Plas, and it really, really can't just be for drugs. There's loads of scientific equipment around, so it might be a laboratory, but there's also weapons and loads of crazy stuff where I have no idea what it is. I can only find the lights for this section, and I don't want to go anywhere else. I really really can't work out how to get out. I think the door needs a pass or something. I'm not even sure how I got in to start with. So I'm just sat here on this settee wr

* * *

><p>"Bloody good thing she can't aim." Owen complains. "Thought I was going to get my brains blown out there."<p>

Gwen settles on the sofa beside the prone form of the small mousy girl Jack has just knocked out, pushes the hair out of her eyes, and starts methodically investigating pockets. "She's got your keys."

Ianto caught them neatly. "Excellent infiltration."

"You should never have dropped them."

"Would you have preferred it if I hadn't rushed off to help get you and Owen out of that little situation with the H'Everni?"

"She was onto us anyway." Tosh is perusing the diary. "Oh - she thought we were running a drugs cartel."

"Owen looks it." Gwen teases as she steals a mint from the half-opened packet in their visitor's pocket, and clarifies. "On drugs."

"Do not."

"Only three pints too."

"You were the one-"

"Stop bickering, or next time you two get abducted as animal test subjects I swear I will leave you there." Jack has found this a more than trying day and the effects of the pub relaxation session have now been cancelled out by the break-in. "Ianto, remind me again why we're in this situation."

"Because Cardiff council contacted the tourist office about the work experience places they'd arranged two weeks later than they should have done, so I didn't have time to think up a decent excuse. You were the one who told me to run with it."

"Yeah, well I didn't think she'd be this persistent."

"Nosy Welsh women." Owen comments happily "Always prying where they shouldn't." A mint _pings_ off the side of his head.

"It would have been fine if the H'Everni hadn't turned up. And if the weevils hadn't chosen this week to have their biannual expedition to Swansea."

"Well, no more in future, yeah? Not unless we give them an intelligence test first."

"And ask them how often they read detective novels." Gwen adds, now halfway through searching the bag. "She's got missed calls from 'home'."

"Sort her out with retcon and take her home. Say the police found her and don't know what's happened. It's generally the case."

"Why me?"

"Because you can still do the police-woman thing, and because you got yourself inconveniently abducted today."

"I didn't _choose _that. And Owen did too."

"Gwen, I've been shot three times today, I've had to rescue you _and _Owen, and my base's supposedly alien-proof security system has been infiltrated by a school girl. I am not in a particularly good mood."

"Yep, I'd worked that out, thanks."

"I'll come with you" Tosh says helpfully, more to get away than anything else. Owen's already slunk off somewhere, probably to continue from where their tour of Cardiff's bars had left off.

Jack stops pacing as the Hub slowly empties, leaving only him and Ianto, now busy reading the journal that's been removed for safe-keeping in the vaults. "She knew we were both-!"

"What?" Jack asks, somewhat unnecessarily.

Ianto flings the book down. "Is it really that obvious?"

Jack shrugs. "Maybe. Are you-?"

"No. I'm going home. I've had a long day too, remember."

"Fine." Jack is fed up with today. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong seems to have managed to do so. He can only hope the rest of the week will be better, with fewer break-ins, a shortage of death or near-death situations, and far far less stress.

By the time the spaceship has sunk in the middle of the Bay (apparently it registered as solid on their scanners) in full view of a boat full of day-trippers, the archives have been set on fire by a small orange snail, and Ianto has been taken into custody as part of the police investigation into the attack on the 15 year old work experience student last seen waiting outside the tourist office, Jack feels that 'fed up' is an understatement.

**If I get enough spurring reviews and helpful ideas/suggestions I may write a further piece detailing the police investiagation. Anyone know what police paperwork looks like? **


	13. Under Arrest

**Thank you to all my amazing reviewers! Shade O'Killer, chironsgirl, L.A.H.H., NormalityIsNonexistent and Torchwood Cardiff. **

**I'm taking the advice about 'making up your own police procedures', since I know very little about how the police actually work on the arrests and convictions side of things, mostly due to never having been arrested or convicted. So apologies for any glaring errors and feel free to enlighten me. **

**Before anyone assumes otherwise, I do not own the Cardiff Metropolitan Police, and doing so is probably illegal. **

Under Arrest

_Recorded home interview, 6th November 1pm_

_PC H. Green and PC M. Parsons_

PC Green: Ellen Carson, yes?

EC: Yes.

PC Green: And how old are you?

EC: Fifteen.

PC Green: Your mother contacted the police because she believes you were attacked.

EC: I don't know. I can't remember.

PC Parsons: Can you tell us where you were last night and anything else that seems relevant? I know you have had a blow to the head, but anything you can remember might be useful in establishing what happened.

EC: Couldn't I just have tripped up and banged my head?

PC Green: The doctor's report strongly suggests that you were hit from behind while upright, and the evidence points towards a human hand, probably a man's from the size.

SC (EC's mother): Do you have DNA traces?

PC Green: Unfortunately not. But the CCTV footage we have tells us that Ellen was in the Plas area between 5 and 7pm.

EC: I can't remember that.

SC: You said you were meeting friends. Did you?

EC: I'm not sure. I don't think so.

PC Parsons: (to SC) Could you ring round Ellen's friends ask if she was with any of them last night?

PC Green: Now, Ellen, were you meeting anyone else? Anybody you might not want your mother to know about? Anyone you'd never met before?

EC: I don't think so. I think I was just looking out for someone, not trying to meet them.

PC Green: What's the last thing you can remember?

EC: When I got sent home from the tourist office. Where I'm doing work experience. But the whole week seems kind of fuzzy.

PC Parsons: Work experience? What were you doing?

EC: I was at the tourist office. Not the big one – the little one down by the Bay. But there wasn't much to do. Weren't that many tourists either. But the ones we did get stayed for ages. They… they were a bit weird, some of them.

PC Green: Anything particularly unusual?

EC: A few foreigners, but that's normal, I guess… And one man who kept swearing at me and saying horrible things about Cardiff and Wales.

PC Green: Got a name?

EC: No. Sorry

PC Green: That's fine. What about a description?

EC: He was quite small, I think. Sort of scrawny. Had dark hair. And very rude. Even my boss had an argument with him.

PC Parsons: Your boss?

EC: Mr Jones. I think his first name was Ianto. He was… average. Polite. Neat. Always wore a suit.

PC Green: An-

EC: He was odd. Definitely. He was always watching me. I suspected… I can't remember what it was now. I just felt that something was wrong. Like, on the first day he'd leave me there while he went to get coffee, but yesterday he almost never left.

PC Green: Why do you think he watched you?

EC: I don't know. It was creepy. At first it was just like he was looking out for me, so I didn't mess the office up or anything, but later it was like being under surveillance. He has cameras too.

PC Green: And then he sent you home early? And you wandered about outside the office for a few hours?

EC: I think so. I'm not sure now.

PC Green: Did he ask you to wait for him?

E.C. I can't remember.

PC Green: Right.

SC: Her friends all say they never saw her.

PC Parsons: Mrs Carson, how did Ellen get home last night?

SC: You brought her back. The police. That's why I called you back in this morning.

PC Green: I can't remember seeing a report about that.

PC Parsons: Did you get the officer's name?

SC: There was a police woman and an Asian, Chinesey sort of woman who she said was the person who found her. She showed me a badge or a card or something, but I was, well, what with Ellen lying there unconscious and everything…

PC Parsons: But did you get a name? Then we can double-check with the records from last night. I'm surprised we haven't been referred to them already.

SC: Copper, or something. No, that can't be right. Cooper, I think.

PC Green: That'd be… Gwen, wouldn't it? She left, what, years ago.

PC Parsons: Could be a cover identity then.

SC: You mean they weren't real police? The people who brought her back weren't the police? What if it was them who hurt her? I offered them tea! What if-

EC: I am still here, you know.

* * *

><p><em>Cardiff Police Headquarters<em>

"Hannah, you're right. There's been no Cooper registered here for months. And no report has been filed from last night."

"I thought so. Looks like they were using a stolen ID then."

"We should bring in that Jones bloke. She obviously wasn't comfortable with him."

"I did some research on him. He seems like an odd man. A recluse. He runs that old tourist office down by the Bay, so he can't see people that often. I mean, who'd want to work down there?"

"Anything on the criminal record?"

"One minor conviction as a teenager. Nothing much."

"Aha!"

"What?"

"Lucy's been looking through the CCTV – she's found more footage of Ellen, heading towards the tourist office, round about 7 o'clock."

"Ok. At that time of night? Does anyone else follow?"

"Nope. That's all she found."

"Can she send us a copy? I want to check later as well."

"Can't. The system deleted it."

"What?"

"Yeah. I know. Just what we needed."

"Ok. I'll sign the arrest warrant, then."

* * *

><p><em>Police interview transcript 17439b<em>

_Date: 6th November 4.45pm _

_Interviewers: PC H. Green and PC M. Parsons_

PC G: Ianto Jones?

IJ: That's me.

PC G: You work at the tourist office by the Plas?

IJ: Yes.

PC G: Do you work there every day?

IJ: Four days a week, usually.

PC G: And for the last few days you worked with Ellen Carson as a work experience student, am I right?

IJ: Yes.

PC P: What time did you leave work last night?

IJ: About four, I think.

PC G: Is that your usual time?

IJ: No. A bit earlier than usual. One of my friends called me up because he was feeling ill.

PC G: I see. Who was this friend?

IJ: Jack Harkness.

PC G: And how long were you with him?

IJ: All evening, pretty much, until I went home at 10 or so.

PC P: Can he confirm that with us?

IJ: Probably. I can give you his phone number if you want.

PC P: Good. Does he have an address?

IJ: Ah…

PC P: You went to his house but you don't know his address?

IJ: He's visiting from America and staying over at another friend's house. Toshiko Sato. If you give me a piece of paper I can write her address down for you.

PC G: Can she confirm where you were last night too?

IJ: Should be able to.

PC G: Alright. We'll leave this for a minute while we check.

_15 minutes_

PC P: Well, isn't that interesting? Your friend Mr Harkness tells us that you were helping him look after an ill Miss Sato. Was that actually the case or have you both just failed to consolidate your cover story?

IJ: -

PC P: Miss Sato, incidentally, appears to know nothing about either of you having stayed over at her house. Like Mr Harkness she thinks you were all at his, non-existent house.

PC G: Mr Harkness was the person we allowed you to contact to say that you were being taken into custody, is that right?

IJ: Yes.

PC G: That would explain the mismatch. Not quite long enough to agree what you were saying. Or had you prepared one earlier and one of you forgot?

IJ: -

PC P: And Ellen Carson says she thinks she recalls seeing you and at least one other person in the Plas after you had supposedly left for your friend's house. Who else was with you then?

IJ: -

PC G: Please answer our questions, Mr Jones. Ellen needs to know what happened, and we don't want to get the wrong man.

IJ: Is this the good cop bad cop thing? I didn't think you actually used it.

PC P: Miss Sato is Japanese, isn't she?

IJ: Sorry? Yes, she is. Why?

PC P: Do you know where she was and who she was with last night?

IJ: After I left? No.

PC G: I think we've already established that you were never at her house. Did you ask her to help you get Ellen home afterwards? Offer her money?

IJ: No. After what?

PC G: Do you know anything about a faked or stolen Police ID?

IJ: What? No. Look, I never saw Ellen last night.

PC P: You were both in the Plas last night. Next to the tourist office. Was she waiting for you?

IJ: How should I know if she was?

PC P: Why did you attack her?

IJ: I didn't.

PC P: Are you sure? Someone hit her over the head, knocked her unconscious. Are you sure it wasn't you? Or was it this Harkness bloke who keeps popping up, trying to fake you alibis?

IJ: I-

PC D: Ah, special ops.

PC G: Sorry, Andy? Wh-

PC D: Special ops, I said. Whole thing's being taken over.

PC P: But you're not special ops.

PC D: No-

- : I am. Sorry to mess this whole thing up for you, Hannah.

PC G: Gwen! I haven't seen you in ages! So this is special ops, is it?

GC: Yeah. I'm sorry. It's not quite what it seems.

PC P: So what is it then? Or is it too 'special' and 'secret' for us lowly police officers to know?

GC: Please don't be like that, Mark. It's the drugs investigation, ok? Ellen stumbled across it while she was doing her work experience, and got hurt. I took her home,-

PC P: So the identity card _was_ yours?

GC: Yes. My ops one, well… I would have helped clear this whole investigation up today, but, well-

PC P: What?

GC: I was working undercover yesterday and it didn't go as planned.

PC P: Let me guess. You got drugged.

GC: Sounds about right, yeah.

PC P: Voluntarily, or-?

PC G: So where does Jones fit in?

GC: He's part of it, yeah.

PC P: Part of what? Special Ops or the drug cartel? Not that it makes much difference.

GC: I'm not at liberty to say.

PC P: Exactly.

GC: Mark, please! I just need to take him and go.

PC P: Fine.

GC: And thank you for your help.

PC P: Yeah right.

* * *

><p>"That was all total lies, wasn't it?"<p>

"Nope."

Andy turns to Ianto. "You mean you did knock her out?"

"No, that was Jack. It was necessary."

"Right. Necessary. So what was the truth?"

"That Gwen and I are both 'special ops'."

"That was just a suggestion. We could have put you in handcuffs and they would have been fine with that too."

"And that Gwen was the one who took Ellen back and that she was off her head at the time."

"She was?"

"I was mildly drugged."

"Mildly? I saw you when we got you out of that place. You should never have gone on a clean-up mission."

"Jack sent me. And I didn't mess up as badly as he did. Anyway, who's the person who just got you out of a sentence for assault?"

"The person I rescued when I found them drugged up to the eyeballs with experimental alien substances the other day. I say 'up to the eyeballs', but then you were upside down at the time…"

"Bloody aliens. Who told them that the female of the species goes the other way up from the male?"

"Owen?"

"Probably. He was spouting all sorts of nonsense."

"Sorry?"

"Oh sorry, Andy. Look, we need to go anyway, because there's some crisis somewhere else now. It's been one hell of a week. Thanks for helping out."

"Yeah, it's fine. If you need me-"

"I'll call. Police diversions on this crashed spaceship might be good."

Ianto puts on a serious face. "Thanks for helping bust me out of prison."

"That's fine. It's becoming a habit with you lot. I'll send my love next time Jack ends up in the cells."

"He'll like that."

"Ianto-?"

"Yeah. See you Andy."

"See you." The two of them have already gone. He yells after them anyway. "I'll erase the police report, shall I? And get rid of the arrest warrant? Ah, sod it."


End file.
